passing dignitaries and healing centre for those wealthy enough to pay for their care. There would be a great tithe barn and stable, and a kennel to raise hunting hounds to sell to the nobility. Then, when these were firmly established, a monastery school—the better to draw in the sons of the region’s noblemen and worthies and reap fat grants of land and favours from appreciative parents.
With these thoughts, he lifted the reins and urged his brown palfrey on once more, following his escort to the count’s fortress, where he would spend the night, continuing on to the church the next morning.
Within sight of their destination now, the riders picked up the pace. At the foot of the hill, they turned off the track and rode up to the fortress, passing over the narrow bridge and through the newly erected gate tower, where they were met by the snivelling nephew himself.
“Greetings, Abbot Hugo,” called Count Falkes, hurrying to meet him. “I hope you have had a pleasant journey.”
“Pax vobiscum,” replied the cleric. “God be praised, yes.
The journey was blissfully tranquil.” He extended his hand for the young count to kiss his ring.
Count Falkes, unused to this courtesy, was taken aback. After a brief but awkward hesitation, he remembered his manners and pressed his lips to the abbot’s ruby ring. Hugo, having made his point, now raised the hand over the young count in blessing. “Benedictus, omni patri,” he intoned, then smiled. “I imagine it must be easy to forget when one is unaccustomed to such decorum.”
“Your Grace,” replied the count dutifully. “I assure you, I meant no disrespect.”
“It is already forgotten,” the abbot replied. “I suppose there is little place for such ceremony here in the Marches.”
He turned to take in the hall, stables, and yard with a sweep of his keen eyes. “You have done well in a short time.”
“Most of what you see was here already,” the count conceded. “Aside from a few necessary improvements, I have not had time to construct anything better.”
“Now that you say it,” intoned the abbot, “I thought it possessed a certain quaint charm not altogether fitting the tastes of your uncle, the baron.”
“We have plans to enlarge this fortress in due course,” the count assured him. “The town and church are of more immediate concern, however. I have ordered those to be finished first.”
“A wise course, to be sure. Make no mistake, I am most eager to see it all—especially the church. That is the solid cornerstone of any earthly dominion. There can be no true prosperity or governance without it.” Abbot Hugo raised his hands and waved off any reply the count might make. “But, no, here I am, preaching to my host when the welcome cup awaits. Forgive me.”
“Please, Your Grace, come this way,” said Falkes, leading the way to his hall. “I have prepared a special meal in your honour—and tonight we have wine from Anjou, selected especially for this occasion by the baron himself.”
“Do you indeed? Good!” replied Hugo with genuine appreciation. “It has been a long time since I held a cup of that quality. It is a delicacy I will enjoy.”
Count Falkes, relieved to have pleased his demanding guest, turned to greet the churchman’s escort; he charged Orval, the seneschal, with the care of the knights and then led the abbot into the hall, where they could speak in private before supper.
The hall had been renovated. A fresh layer of clay and gypsum had been applied to the rough timber walls, and after being pain-stakingly smoothed and dried, the whole was whitewashed. The small window in the upper east wall was now closed with a square of oiled sheepskin. A new table sat a short distance from the hearth, with a tall iron candletree at each end. A fire cracked smartly on the big hearth, more for light than heat, and two chairs were drawn up on each side, with a jar and two silver goblets on the table between them.
The count filled the cups and passed one to his guest, and they settled themselves in their chairs to enjoy the wine and gain the measure of each other. “Health to you, Lord Abbot,” said Falkes. “May you prosper in your new home.”
Hugo thanked him courteously and said, “Truth told, a churchman has but one home, and it is not of this world.We sojourn here or there awhile, until it pleases God to move us along.”
“In any event,” replied the count, “I pray your sojourn amongst